"He’s dead," Russ tells me. "I can replace his insides, more or less build him back from scratch, but that’s gonna cost you about as much as a used one."
I stand looking at Yang, who’s lying on the massage table with a tangle of red and green wires protruding from his back. Even though his skin has lost its vibrant color, it still looks soft, like when he first came to our home. "Isn’t there anything else you can do?"
"His voice box and language system are still running. If you want, I’ll take it out for you. He’ll be able to talk to her, there just won’t be any face attached. Cost you sixty bucks." Russ is wiping his hands on a rag, avoiding my eyes. I think of the sign hanging in the other room. Sure, I think, I can just imagine the pleasure Russ will take in cutting up Yang.
"No, that’s all right. I’ll just take him home. What do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Russ says. I look up at him. "You know George," he says as explanation. "Besides, I can’t fix him for you."
On the ride home, I call Kyra. She picks up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it’s me." My voice is ragged.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say, then add, "Actually, no."
"What’s the matter? How’s Yang?"
"I don’t know. The tech I took him to says he’s dead, but I don’t believe him—the guy had a thing against Asians. I’m thinking about taking Yang over to Quick Fix." There’s silence on the other end of the line. "How’s Mika?" I ask.
"She keeps asking if Yang’s okay. I put a movie on for her… Dead?" she asks. "Are you positive?"
"No, I’m not sure. I don’t know. I’m not ready to give up on him yet. Look," I say, glancing at the dash clock, "it’s only three. I’m going to suck it up and take him to Quick Fix. I’m sure if I drop enough cash they can do something."
"What will we do if he’s dead?" Kyra asks. "I’ve got work on Monday."
"We’ll figure it out," I say. "Let’s just wait until I get a second opinion."
Kyra tells me she loves me, and I return my love, and we hang up. It’s as my Bluetooth goes dead that I feel the tears coming. I remember last fall when Kyra was watching Mika. I was in the garage taking down the rake when, from behind me, I heard Yang. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, as though he was uncertain what to do while Mika was being taken care of. "Can I help you?" he asked.
On that chilly late afternoon, with the red and orange leaves falling around us—me in my vest, and Yang in the black suit he came with—Yang and I quietly raked leaves into large piles on the flat earth until the backyard looked like a village of leaf huts. Then Yang held open the bag, I scooped the piles in, and we carried them to the curb.
"You want a beer?" I asked, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
"Okay," Yang said. I went inside and got two cold ones from the fridge, and we sat together, on the splintering cedar of the back deck, watching the sun fall behind the trees and the first stars blink to life above us.
"Can’t beat a cold beer," I said, taking a swig.
"Yes," Yang said. He followed my lead and took a long drink. I could hear the liquid sloshing down into his stomach canister.
"This is what men do for the family," I said, gesturing with my beer to the leafless yard. Without realizing it, I had slipped into thinking of Yang as my son, imagining that one day he’d be raking leaves for his own wife and children. It occurred to me then that Yang’s time with us was limited. Eventually, he’d be shut down and stored in the basement—an antique that Mika would have no use for when she had children of her own. At that moment I wanted to put my arm around Yang. Instead I said, "I’m glad you came out and worked with me."
"Me, too," Yang said and took another sip of his beer, looking exactly like me in the way he brought the bottle to his lips.
The kid at Quick Fix makes me feel much more at ease than Russ. He’s wearing a bright red vest with a clean white shirt under it and a name tag that reads HI, I’M RONNIE! The kid’s probably not even twenty-one. He’s friendly, though, and when I tell him about Yang, he says, "Whoa, that’s no good," which is at least a little sympathetic. He tells me they’re backed up for an hour. So much for quick, I think. I put Yang on the counter and give my name. "We’ll page you once he’s ready," Ronnie says.
I spend the time wandering the store. They’ve got a demo station of Championship Boxing, so I put on the jacket and glasses and take on a guy named Vance, who’s playing in California. I can’t figure out how to dodge or block though, and when I throw out my hand, my guy on the screen just wipes his nose with his glove. Vance beats the shit out of me, so I put the glasses and vest back on the rack and go look at other equipment. I’m playing with one of the new ThoughtPhones when I hear my name paged over the loudspeaker, so I head back to the Repair counter.
"Fried," the kid tells me. "Honestly, it’s probably good he bit it. He’s a really outdated model." Ronnie is rocking back and forth on his heels as though impatient to get on to his next job.
"Isn’t there anything you can do?" I ask. "He’s my daughter’s Big Brother."
"The language system is fully functional. If you want, I can separate the head for you."
"Are you kidding? I’m not giving my daughter her brother’s head to play with."
"Oh," the kid says. "Well, um, we could remove the voice box for you. And we can recycle the body and give you twenty dollars off any digital camera."
"How much is all this going to cost?"
"It’s ninety-five for the checkup, thirty-five for disposal, and voice box removal will be another hundred and fifty. You’re probably looking at about three hundred after labor and taxes."
I think about taking him back to Russ, but there’s no way. When he’d told me Yang was beyond saving, I gave him a look of distrust that anyone could read loud and clear. "Go ahead and remove the voice box," I say, "but no recycling. I want to keep the body."
George is outside throwing a football around with his identical twins when I pull in. He raises his hand to his kids to stop them from throwing the ball and comes over to the low hedge that separates our driveways. "Hey, how’d it go with Russ?" he asks as I get out of the car.
"Not good." I tell him about Yang, getting a second opinion, how I’ve got his voice box in the backseat, his body in a large Quick Fix bag in the trunk. I tell him all this with as little emotion as possible. "What can you expect from electronics?" I say, attempting to appear nonchalant.
"Man, I’m really sorry for you," George says, his voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. "Yang was a good kid. I remember the day he came over to help Dana carry in the groceries. The kids still talk about that fortune-telling thing he showed them with the three coins."
"Yeah," I say, looking at the bushes. I can feel the tears starting again. "Anyhow, it’s no big deal. Don’t let me keep you from your game. We’ll figure it out." Which is a complete lie. I have no clue how we’re going to figure anything out. We needed Yang, and there’s no way we can afford another model.
"Hey, listen," George says. "If you guys need help, let us know. You know, if you need a day sitter or something. I’ll talk to Dana—I’m sure she’d be up for taking Mika." George reaches out across the hedge, his large hand coming straight at me. For a moment I flash back to Championship Boxing and think he’s going to hit me. Instead he pats me on the shoulder. "I’m really sorry, Jim," he says.